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Stupid polar vortexes. It's cold. But it is an open field, with little wildlife and less visitors. Although, Lunair wouldn't object to fresh venison (yum). There's a cooler and a warm lunch box on a blanket nearby. The field glistens, green and white with ice and plant life trapped beneath it. Most sensible animals have sought warmth and cover, while Lunair is duly bundled up. She's layered enough to make an onion say DANG GIRL. POST THAT ON A BLOG.

The evening's sun is slowly sinking beneath the horizon, as if sighing tiredly after a long day of work and preparing to slump into a comfy Lay-z-boy chair and watch the game. It would be nice to have its evening beer and forget the day, too. Darkness creeps hopefully, shy hints of stars peeking out like a cautious beast slipping around a corner. It is quiet. And Lunair has a freaking blue lightsaber. What the?

Mimic can blink to Australia if he wants. But let's face it, flying is just fun. He's been circling and criss-crossing the city, low enough to see if there's anything on the ground that needs his attention, and probably mistaken for the Human Torch by everyone who see him. Given he's on fire and it's getting dark, that's probably a fair number of people. Swinging wide on the outskirts, he starts to head back when a glowing blue light catches his attention. Flying lower, he hovers to get a better look then lands when he finally makes out what it is. "That can't be a real lightsaber." It's really a question.

Also, why would one go to Australia? Everything there tries to kill you. But yes, flying is pretty fun! Lunair doesn't really pay much attention to the sky. Not for a moment. She's practicing her swordsmanship and stances. Until a flying, flaming guy comes in close. Her eyes widen as he hovers and lands. Lunair looks alarmed. Opens her mouth. Closes it. Stares at him a long moment, with an earnestly rivaled by animals and those desperately under socialized.

Finally, she answers. "It is. Hi! I'm not- on your lawn or anything am I?" As if lightsabers were totally normal to her.

Mimic shakes his head at the question though it's the lightsaber that has more of his attention than Lunair herself. "Lawn? No. I don't know who owns this." It sure looks like a lightsaber. It even sounds like a lightsaber. The problem of course, is that lightsabers don't exist off of a movie screen. "Is that a movie prop?" damn advanced prop if it is.

Lunair looks to Mimic. "Google maps had it as open," She explains. "I wanted to practice without risking anyone or - someone's home," She admits. And it is a lightsaber. She twirls it idly, practicing a little. "Huh? This? Nope. It's the real deal. Wanna try one?" She offers. "And what color?" She offers. "Just be super careful. It's a weapon with little to no mass, but it'll go straight through nearly anything."

"Blue is fine." Mimic's grinning a bit at the thought of playing with a lightsaber though he does nod at the warning. "So you have multiple lightsabers. You're a scientist? Though I don't think even Tony Stark has a lightsaber." But he doesn't really need one does he?

Out of nowhere, a lightsaber handle appears in Lunair's hand. Perfectly made, intact. As if it had been lovingly crafted by some Jedi hopeful. Lunair carefully hands it over, blade side away from him (it's OFF, mind you). "Sure thing," She smiles at him grinning. "I make them as I need them. I figure my cover was kinda blown that I'm unusual when I had a lightsaber in the first place," Lunair admits. "And I am not sure he does. But he has beamy things and rockets, yeah?"

"Yeah." Mimic agrees, taking the lightsaber and turning it over and over in his hands as he inspects it. "It was, pretty much." he agrees. "Though as I said, I guessed scientist and not mutant. I don't think I've ever met a mutant who could create lightsabers out of nothing." Out of stuff, yes but not out of nothing. Once he's done his inspection, he grips is carefully then turns it on. "Very cool."

Lunair is quiet a moment. She smiles faintly. Weirdly, Lunair seems to have trouble matching facial expressions when she speaks. Almost as if she has to work at it. Her default state is a blank, neutral and very distant stare. "I see. And fair enough," She grins. "That is true. Although, I don't know if I'm a mutant. Some people get picky about the term," Lunair admits, looking at her now empty hand. And indeed, Mimic now has a cool blue lightsaber! She keeps her own lightsaber steady. "But I am different. Um. What do I call you? I don't think I've met you and somehow, Jedi Flame Guy seems kinda wrong."

"And inaccurate." he agrees, giving Lunair a quick smile before he steps back and starts moving the lightsaber around, causing it to give that distinctive hum as it slices through the air. "Call me Mimic. And you're either a mutant or something happened to you to change your DNA. I can feel it now I'm paying attention."

"I see," Lunair smiles back. She watches him move the lightsaber around and she seems curious. "Mimic. Nice to meet you." Lunair pauses, going quiet. She glances up, hmming softly. "I'm not sure. I probably would've been dead by now if they hadn't done what they did. I'm not sure I'm happy about that or not. But I do quite like being alive," She admits. She lets her smile return. She's probably a metahuman. Or maybe if she'd live long enough… who knows. Only those whacky time travelers would! "I guess it's not that important. It still really freaks people out, so I try to practice away," She admits. "But I am Lunair. And Mimic is an interesting name," She considers.

Mimic's not one of those heroes who runs from the press or the cops. He's even done interviews. "They?" he repeats, now looking over at Lunair. "Not Weapon X was it? Though they usually take mutants and then try to enhance or change their abilities. But you're definitely different on a genetic level now. As if to illustrate, he turns off the lightsaber and lightly tosses it a couple feet away. Then holding out his hand, there's a lightsaber there. This one green when he turns it on.

Lunair does, however. She's a mercenary and a bit questionable. Lunair shakes her head. She smiles sadly. "I was dying. I can't remember what of, but I was sick a lot. They said I was dying of cancer, too." She had no immune system. "So I was enrolled in an experimental program. Weirdly, most of us survived and all of us who did gained some kinda power." She shrugs. "I can't tell you beyond that," She admits. She was very young from the sound of it. "And I suppose so." Her eyes widen. "Whoa." Yeah, that'd be the Mimic thing. "That is cool." Beam.

Mimic definitely looks interested in Lunair's story. "Who was 'they'? Private corporation? Government? No name given but advertised on Craigslist? You're lucky they didn't try to keep you locked up or working for them under threat of very bad things." Though the assessing gaze he gives her clearly asks 'Or did they try?'

"Both kinda," Lunair seems hesitant to talk about it. She doesn't seem thrilled by any memories that return and distracts herself looking up to the sky. "My parents were afraid, I guess." But then, what parents want to see someone pass away long before their time? Lunair doesn't fault them. She looks thoughtful. "Well. They tried. One girl had - she could move earth and stuff… she took out the building. Some of us got adopted, others fled." She shrugs. "I am grateful to be alive. I do not know what to make of it sometimes." She seems to struggle with emoting and speaking normally. Hospital life probably didn't leave her the best at socializing, nor lab life. "They wanted to, though. Whatever they gave us was good enough to make all of us who lived have powers." She has to watch out for herself. "Which means, that not entirely coincidentally. I hate white vans." She has a dark sense of humor. "Um. Wow. That's kinda dark for a first meeting." Her eyes widen a bit.

"Believe me, I've heard it before." Mimic tells her, sounding sympathetic. And worse. Much worse. "There's a lot of power hungrey people out there willing to do bad things to get what they want. But it's almost never themselves they experiment on. I'm glad to hear you and your… friends? made it out alive and mostly well. Have you had sufficient training with your powers? They're under control?"

There probably is much worse. But suffering is relative, and very personal. She tilts her head. "Well. It started with a noble idea." Lunair didn't want to die. "I think I would have died before I turned 8," She admits. A shrug. "Maybe. And no, they don't." She considers it. "Thanks! They were nice enough, but most of us split our own ways. It's probably safer that way," She looks to the sky." Then a moment of quiet. Lunair hmms. "Yeah! So far so good. I think if I push too hard - I'm not sure. I've never really tested my limits. I probably should sometime. It's hard to find places to practice," She remarks. "At least, not without riling up a whole lot of cops."

Mimic nods his agreement. "Yes, I can see that." He considers a moment then says "I might be able to find you a safe place to really push yourself. You'd need to agree to not try to figure out where you were though." The Danger Room could certainly handle Lunair. "But it would be perfectly safe for you and anyone else. I take it you're not limited to just lightsabers?"

Lunair quirks a smile. "Hm, really? And it's okay, I usually need maps or GPS anyway," She admits. Lunair seems willing to go along with it. She is a mercenary, but - there's a decency code and honor in there. "And nope, not just lightsabers. Almost anything I can think of or understand. Or know of. I don't think I'd want to do something like a missile… not sure that I even could. Still seems dreadfully impractical," She contemplates this.

"Anything you can think of?" Mimic repeats, quirking a brow. "A car? And what do you do with them when you're done with them?" He contemplates the lightsaber in his hand. He can't just throw it away. Though it would make a nice display item on his shelf.